


Hangover Cures

by InNovaFertAnimus



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Meet-Ugly, Multi, maybe tiny bit of angst in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23983729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InNovaFertAnimus/pseuds/InNovaFertAnimus
Summary: There’s a young woman with tousled brown hair coming out of the bedroom on the other side of the hall, clothes clutched to her chest with the same deer in the headlights look on her face that he can feel on his own.Definitely not Alexander Vinciguerra.Gaby and Solo meet on their way out on the next morning. Turns out, they have more in common than bad choices.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo/Gaby Teller
Comments: 32
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [canardroublard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/canardroublard/gifts).



> took me long enough, but here is your very very very late birthday gift part 1!
> 
> I hope you like your surprise au :D It's from one of the meet-ugly prompt lists ;)

Napoleon slips on his underwear, gathers his mess of clothes as silently as he can and tiptoes out of the room.

Daring to glance back, he can see Victoria still asleep on the bed and takes a moment to be grateful for the Vinciguerra’s wealth as the door closes without a creak.

He lets himself take a deep breath and rakes his hands through his hair with a silent groan. His head is killing him, but it’s nothing compared to the cocktail of regret and embarrassment flowing through his veins. It’s pathetic enough that he’ll fall into bed with anyone who happens to glance at him when his crush wouldn’t even talk to him more than ten minutes, but sleeping with Victoria of all people is a new low. She’s hot enough, but she’s also crazy, an absolute asshole and very, _very_ engaged to one of the richest people in the country. Maybe Napoleon has a death wish and he just hasn’t realized it yet.

With a small sigh he pushes the self-pity to the back of his mind, to contemplate later while he waits out the hangover in his own home and starts to dress.

He’s only just pulled up his pants, when he hears a door opening. Napoleon’s head snaps up to where the sound is coming from, getting ready to bolt in a second.

There’s a young woman with tousled brown hair coming out of the bedroom on the other side of the hall, clothes clutched to her chest with the same deer in the headlights look on her face that he can feel on his own.

Definitely not Alexander Vinciguerra.

They stare at each other for a bit before Napoleon gives her a nod containing the quite unique kinship of having made the same mistake. Then he turns around to let her get dressed, because he still has at least some manners left.

Just as Napoleon finishes buttoning up his dress shirt, he feels a presence next to him. The woman steps around him, tilting her head in a silent _you coming_?

Napoleon grabs his shoes and follows her out. They see another few guests sleeping in the living room, others who hadn’t made it home the night before. Some of them blink an eye open as they pass, but that’s the only reaction they get. Her company is quite useful actually; the other guests will probably assume it’s her that Napoleon was spending the night with.

Napoleon opens the front door and lets her step out first. They groan in unison at the brightness of the sunlight.

She raises her hand to shield her eyes, but it doesn’t seem to help her much.

“I fucking hate Vinciguerra parties.”

Napoleon manages to chuckle weakly. “Me too, but the booze is too good to pass up.”

The woman scoffs. “That’s sadly true.”

They both start walking. There’s not much conversation to be had, really. A walk of shame isn’t the place to make small talk. They both turn right on the street. And right again after. The woman glances at him suspiciously, and Napoleon just shrugs in response. He’d rather wallow in shame on his own, but he’s also glad they share some of the way. Two disheveled people on their way home on a Sunday morning look a lot less pathetic than one person walking alone.

It gets ridiculous when after about twenty minutes of their impromptu shared walk they still turn in the same direction at the next cross-road.

A loud sigh makes Napoleon stop. The woman turns to him, her fingers squeezing the bridge of her nose.

“Look,” she says, her eyes staying firmly shut in order to stave off the headache Napoleon can basically see radiating around her head like a hangover halo, “I got a headache that makes me want to stab my own eyes out, I lost my handbag with all my stuff yesterday and if I don’t get coffee in the next five minutes people are gonna die. There’s a shitty diner just around the corner and I’m still drunk enough not to mind it too much.”

Napoleon listens attentively and damn, if he doesn’t feel the same. Coffee sounds fantastic actually.

“What are you proposing?”

She lowers her hand from her face. Now that he’s closer he can see the leftover-makeup smeared around her eyes.

“You treat me to breakfast and I repay you when I get my handbag back,” she says.

Napoleon considers for a moment, but it’s not like he has any other plans.

“Deal.”

They fall into step easily again, this time with intention.

“I’m Gaby by the way,” she says, sounding a bit less pissed at the world than before. Napoleon isn’t too vain to understand that it’s the prospect of coffee and food that’s cheering her up and not his company. He can’t fault her for that. 

“You can call me Solo,” he says.

Gaby raises her eyebrows at that, but doesn’t comment. At least no Star Wars joke this time.

The diner looks as bad as Gaby had made it sound to be, but they sit down anyway. It’s not like they don’t fit in there at the moment. A waitress comes over with two mugs and pot of coffee and sets them down in front of them. The coffee doesn’t seem very hot anymore, but Napoleon is too hung-over to be picky.

Gaby orders a pile of pancakes, sandwiches and some fruit. It doesn’t really match her tiny frame, but Napoleon is somehow not surprised.

The waitress takes her order with a barely suppressed sigh, like she’s already anticipating an endless back-and-forth between them and the kitchen with her as their messenger already. She looks like she could have been at the same party as Napoleon and Gaby. Maybe the whole city should have stayed in bed this morning. If only that had been a valid choice for him earlier and not a probable death sentence.

Napoleon answers the waitress’ questioning gaze with a polite smile and a short shake of his head. “Just the coffee, thanks.”

Gaby gives him a look as the waitress leaves their table. Napoleon shrugs. “If you don’t want to see me throw up in the next ten minutes, I’d better stick to coffee.” He’s learned that lesson plenty of times. He also suspects the food in this place will taste the same going down as it would coming back up.

Gaby’s food arrives quickly, and he waits for Gaby to begin eating before he picks up his coffee – at this temperature, waiting for a few minutes won’t make any difference. He picks up his coffee, because at that temperature waiting for a few minutes doesn’t make any difference anymore. Or maybe it would have, because the taste can’t get any worse than this. Napoleon almost spits it back into his mug. Despite his earlier belief, he’s definitely too sober for this.

“They call this coffee?” he says, unable to hold back a grimace.

Gaby snickers into her pancakes. At least she’s having fun. He takes another careful sip. It doesn’t get better the second time. Regret seems to be the theme of his day.

“So, what’s a nice girl like you doing at a Vinciguerra party?” he says, just to take his mind off the taste.

“Alexander Vinciguerra apparently,” Gaby says with a shrug.

Napoleon is glad the coffee is too awful to drink much at once, because he would have spit it all over the table. Gaby gives him another look, so his poker face is probably also impaired by his hangover. Great.

He chuckles weakly. “I guess I have to thank you for keeping him occupied.”

The moment Gaby understands what he means is marked by her fork dropping to her plate with a clatter. “Wow, they really deserve each other,” she says, and picks up her fork again.

Napoleon refuses to think about what this says about him and Gaby getting involved willingly with terrible people.

Meeting her is either destiny or really bad karma. Napoleon will have to wait and see which one it is.

“So how did you end up at the Vinciguera’s house?” he says.

She shrugs and stabs a piece of fruit with her fork.

“My uncle works for the company, and I’m a mechanic. I’ve been invited to one of Alexander’s rallies. You?”

Napoleon braves another sip of the so called coffee and manages to suppress a shudder.

“Antiquities expert. I curate their collection.” Antiquities expert and part-time cat burglar, but that’s a conversation for another day. Or no day, preferably.

Neither of them is in the mood for much conversation, so Gaby goes back to eating and Napoleon stares out of the window, trying to keep down the coffee. It’s almost peaceful, despite the insistent headache behind his eyes. Definitely not the worst way to spend a hangover.

Once Gaby is finished, he scribbles his number on a napkin at Gaby’s insistence and pays their bill, and then they’re on their way one more. Honestly, Napoleon couldn’t care less if she never pays him back. The diner’s prices had been adequate for what they were served, and it was nice to have company.

They walk for almost another ten minutes before Gaby turns left at an intersection and Napoleon doesn’t. Gaby stops once she notices and turns back. “I guess this is where we part ways,” she says, waving the napkin at him.

Napoleon is made painfully aware how slow he is, when her words from before finally kick in.

“Are you going to get home okay without your keys?” he asks.

Gaby smirks at him faintly, before turning to go. “Not the first time I’ve broken into my apartment. See you around, Solo.” With that, she turns and heads off down the sidewalk.

The light in front of him turns green and Napoleon decides to cross the street. It’s too early into his hangover to be a gentleman and he’s pretty sure Gaby wasn’t joking.

The rest of the walk home somehow seems almost as long as the distance he’d covered with Gaby, even though he knows it’s just a couple of blocks.

He wastes no time when he comes home and strips on the way to the bathroom. Showering is far more luxurious than it has any right to be and he stays under the hot water for entirely too long. The fluffiness of his bath robe is probably the only reason he leaves it at all.

He fishes his phone out of his discarded clothes, takes a bottle of water with him and throws himself on the couch with the full intention of not getting up until absolutely necessary.

When he unlocks his phone, he’s greeted with a couple of new messages. He usually goes through them, leaving them on read until he has the nerve to answer, but the latest chat catches his eye.

_Unknown number_ : Past-Gaby is a genius

_Unknown number_ : I never brought my shit to the party in the first place

Below the messages is a picture of a handbag on what looks like a coffee table with the contents spilling out. For as drunk as she must have been to forget this, even before leaving for the party, she’s been surprisingly put-together this morning. Napoleon is filled with an unexpected sense of respect and quickly adds her to his contacts.

_me_ : Not enough of a genius to stay at home though

_Gaby_ : You’re the last person I take criticism from

Napoleon smirks at the message.

_me_ : That’s fair

_me_ : so you’re gonna repay me?

_Gaby_ : sure

Napoleon is about to type out his paypal.me link when Gaby sends another message.

_Gaby_ : tell me when you’re free

Huh.

This really isn’t how he’d expected things to go. He takes a few moments to go over their shared morning together and concludes that he’s spent a lot more time with a lot worse people. Agreeing to meet Gaby again is definitely not the worst decision he can make in his situation. There’s something about her that makes him curious, even with the few words they’ve exchanged.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wants to actually _meet_ her and not just stumble into her on the way out of one of his many regrets. Which brings him back to last night and Victoria. He rubs the bridge of his nose, willing the headache to recede with little success.

Well for the next few days his free time is pretty solidly booked with lounging in his bathrobe and questioning his life-choices.

_me_ : next Saturday?

_Gaby_ : I pick the place.

Looks like it’s going to be a week until he actually can answer the destiny-or-bad-karma question.


	2. Chapter 2

Napoleon looks up from his phone to the diner he’s standing in front of. He’s never heard of the place before and it’s pretty small, but the address matches. A bell rings above his head as he enters. The interior is also nothing noteworthy, lots of wood, a little old, but clean enough. He spots Gaby sitting on one of the window seats at the far end.

She looks up when he approaches, already a mug with coffee in her hand.

Even though Napoleon was under no illusion about Gaby being attractive, the difference between her walk-of-shame look and now almost makes him falter, when her large brown eyes meet his. It doesn’t even look like she made much of an effort to look good, but it really works for her. So much that Napoleon thinks that meeting her again might have been a bad idea for entirely unexpected reasons.

Bad karma one, destiny zero.

Napoleon slides into the booth across from her, making a show of looking around. “So this is your preferred breakfast spot, if you’re not regretting your life choices?”

Gaby snorts. “Well, I’m currently regretting my choices again, but everyone deserves a little treat from time to time,” she says as she slides over the menu towards Napoleon. “Go wild, only-coffee-boy.”

Napoleon deems to ignore that in favor of looking over the options. It’s a bit unusual, a lot less traditional American breakfast food in favor of spreads in various sizes. “Anything you’d recommend?”

Bevor Gaby can answer him, a waitress sweeps by their table and greets Gaby with a familiarity that speaks of more than a simple regular-waitress relationship. It’s more of a surprise that they switch to German after the first greeting. Napoleon glances at the menu again and the selection makes a bit more sense.

The waitress blinks at Napoleon for a moment before she steps a little back from the table, clearly getting back into her job, although her smile stays honest. “I’m sorry, that was a bit rude of me.” She takes out a small notepad and a pen. “So, what can I get you two?”

Gaby doesn’t make any move to order, so Napoleon takes the chance.

“Das Frühstück für zwei und einen Kaffee bitte,“ says Napoleon, hoping his German isn’t as rusty as it feels like.

He glances at Gaby to see, if she objects, but she doesn’t. The waitress looks a little surprised, but writes it down, so he thinks he’s been successful. She leaves the table, promising to fetch some coffee.

Gaby smirks faintly at him, definitely not impressed. “Dein Akzent ist ziemlich gut für einen Amerikaner.“

Napoleon doesn’t really know if Gaby is serious or teasing him. Hs German is definitely not good enough to judge her tone if he’s too concentrated on simply understanding her. “German decent or born and raised?” Napoleon asks instead.

“Born and raised. I moved here for my job. Took me ages to find a place with actual bread.”

Even though Napoleon had only spent half a year in Germany, he can understand the sentiment. He’s actually a bit disappointed in himself that he didn’t know about this place.

The waitress is back with Napoleon’s coffee. He thanks her and takes a sip. It’s good, really good if he’s honest. Something must have shown on his face, because now Gaby looks a little more smug than before.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, looking out of the window and savoring the first mug of coffee. Napoleon’s already decided he’s going to get at least two refills. It’s not awkward, even now that neither of them is too hungover to care about being conversational.

It doesn’t take long for their food to arrive. Gaby digs in with the same fervor she did last time, so maybe that’s not a hangover thing for her. Just like the coffee, the food is really good. Napoleon makes sure to savor it, already making a mental note to come back here.

Gaby watches him eat with a smug smile that he doesn’t mind at the least. She’s swallowed her current bite and inhales to say something, when she pauses, her eyes flicking out of the window and landing on something outside.

Napoleon turns to see what’s captured her intention. At first he doesn’t find anything of interest, just cars passing by, a guy jogging down the sidewalk, a lady with two small dogs talking on the phone. He’s about to ask what she’s looking at, when his eyes return back to the jogger and he notices that he’s quite tall. Tall and blond and well built under that tracksuit. He’s heading into their direction, and after a couple more seconds, Napoleon finally makes the connection. “Is that who I think it is?”

Gaby glances towards him with a raised eyebrow. “Who do you think it is?”

“Illya Kuryakin? The architect on the seventh floor?”

She nods. “You know him?”

Just then Illya looks inside the diner, clearly looking for something. His eyes fall on Gaby first, a soft smile forming, before he sees Napoleon. It’s too short a time for Napoleon to judge the slip of Illya’s expression before he stumbles and looks away. He catches himself, barely, and then speeds up until he’s out of sight.

When Napoleon turns back to her Gaby’s smugness is more obvious. Maybe his face was too open, or maybe it’s just Gaby’s hidden supersenses. Or maybe they’re just too alike.

“So, your type is tall and blond?”, she asks, sipping too casually from her mug.

It’s a jab Napoleon should have expected, really. He’s more than earned it. It doesn’t mean he has to take it lying down, though. “Let’s say I have a sense of aesthetics, but I do appreciate beauty in all its forms.” He winks for good measure, making it ambiguous, leaving Gaby to decide if it’s jovial or flirty. Illya’s soft smile flashes through his mind, the one directed at Gaby. Sure, he was surprised at seeing Napoleon, but not her.

“Did you know he was going to be in the area?”, he asks.

“He’s always out running on Saturday mornings, mostly the same track,” she says, like it’s all a coincidence.

Maybe they are indeed just too alike. Somehow he feels like he should have seen this coming. Then he remembers Gaby stumbling out of Alexander’s bedroom, so he doesn’t add another point for bad karma just yet.

“Something tells me we have a mutual interest,” he says, taking another sip from his mug, emptying it.

Gaby huffs, a surprising hint of annoyance behind it. “Maybe, but I don’t care for rivalry.”

Napoleon holds up his hands in a placating manner. “You misunderstand. My interest means very little in this matter, believe me.” He chuckles. “I have no intention of being anyone’s rival.” And it’s true. Keeping something or someone to himself against its - or their – will is distasteful to him. There are things that can’t be stolen or won, and they’re all the more precious for it. “And even if I did, I know I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

There’s another huff from her, this time more amused. It dissipates the tension between them. “I think at this point I’d prefer no chance to missed chance.” She calls out to the waitress in German, something about coffee. When the other woman comes over for a refill, Napoleon takes the opportunity graciously.

Gaby doesn’t wait for her to leave before she continues. The subtle smile on the waitress’ face tells Napoleon that she already knows the story. “We almost kissed once, but some asshole interrupted us and he jumped back like a spooked cat. Nothing since then,” Gaby says. She doesn’t sound very sorrowful, but her hands tighten on her mug in frustration.

Napoleon has a very vivid flashback of Illya leaning down to kiss some brunette girl on one of the more quiet meet-ups, when Napoleon called his name across the room loudly enough to make half the crowd turn to look at him. He’s careful not to react to the memory, or the revelation, since he plans to take both to his grave.

“That’s still further than I’ve ever gotten with him,” he says instead of confessing to his sins.

She raises her eyebrow in question, taking another sip of her coffee.

Napoleon doesn’t have to think very long on how to summarize his experience with Illya. He leans back in his seat, taking his mug with him. “I once made a joke about who’d be topping between us and he didn’t even react. I don’t know if he just didn’t get the joke or if sleeping with another man just never crossed his mind, because usually he just glares at me when I say something funny.” Or he snarks right back, which is honestly Napoleon’s preferred reaction, but he’ll take a glare over nothing any day. Maybe he should be concerned about how much he craves a reaction from Illya, but that’s something to contemplate later. 

Gaby nearly chokes on a cube of cheese from the plater. “Wow, that’s harsh.”

Oh, Napoleon knows. He surveys the leftover food and takes some more eggs.

“I don’t even know why he shows up to those parties.”

There’s a glint in Gaby’s eyes. Unsurprisingly, she must know something he doesn’t. Luckily, she doesn’t make him wait for it. “I asked him once, he thinks they’re are work events.”, She stabs into the small bowl of fruit with her fork.

Napoleon just looks at her, waiting for her to laugh, tell him it’s a joke, but she just drags the fruit off of her fork with her teeth and chews carefully. That actually explains a lot: his reserved manners, his habit of dressing a bit too formally but not enough to make a statement, his refusal to drink.

“How can anyone be so smart and so stupid at the same time?” Napoleon says, barely containing his wonderment.

Gaby smiles, a tad mischievous, and launches into a story involving her, Illya, a row of tequila shots and a race car. Napoleon counters with a story involving him, Illya, too many fingers of bourbon and a Patou dress.

Time flies as they eat and talk about their Russian not-quite-friend. The Russian in question had better never find out what they’re saying behind his back, and they’d probably feel bad fir saying it, if it weren#T so fun. They break off up abruptly after Gaby notices she’s late for her next obligation, something about ‘tinker time at the garage’. Their goodbye is short, but results in a surprisingly firm hug before Gaby catches a cab just in front of the diner. THe brevity doesn’t really bother Napoleon though, since they have each other’s contact information.

As he walks home, Napoleon thinks maybe this is neither bad karma nor destiny, but rather a divine intervention, telling him to spend his time on things that actually make him feel good instead of continuing to dig at someone who is so obviously uninterested and sleeping with strangers to compensate.

In the evening he decides to shoot her another text when he’s getting groceries. He channels all his new-found dissatisfaction with American bread culture into three sentences and attaches a picture of weirdly colored bagels labeled whole grain for indiscernible reasons. He gets a text in return at the check-out, filled with so much rage that Napoleon can’t help but smile.

A few days pass. Napoleon thinks about asking Gaby to breakfast again, skipping the party and the hangover and going straight to lounging on his couch minus the hangover after meeting up with her. Before he can decide whether or not it’s a good idea, his phone pings with a new message.

 _Gaby_ : Alexander invited me to the lake house

 _Gaby_ : You’re my +1

Napoleon closes his eyes for a minute before he replies. No use fighting the inevitable.

 _Me_ : I’ll pick you up at 10

Bad karma two, destiny zero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Follow me on tumblr @deducitetemporacarmen for multifandom reblogs and complains about writing.
> 
> Kudos and comments trick me into writing more :D


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